Turkey Dinner
by MadBat27
Summary: Milton is looking forward to going on vacation for the holidays, but first he has one last job at Arkham: feeding Killer Croc. 20/25


"Grubs up, gator," Milton yelled, pushing the trolley in the dank darkness of the cell.

Milton had been a guard at Arkham as long as anyone could remember. Some of the older staff liked to joke that he was part of the architecture. Milton liked that one. It made him feel important. And sure enough, they all came running to Milton when something needed doing. Especially the rookies who didn't want to admit to their superiors what a mess they'd made of things.

But what did they expect? The turn-around was so high in the asylum, there was hardly ever anyone properly trained. Arkham had unique requirements and protocols, a process that took almost six months to learn. And half the new interns left before they'd completed the course.

He didn't blame them either. But something kept him here, like a calling.

"I keep on tellin' you. I aint no gator."

Killer Croc languished in the gloomy pit, his wrists banded by shackles chained to the ceiling far above. To call it Spartan would be playing the wire drawer. There wasn't even a cot, let alone a wash basin. It was just a hole dug in the floor of his cell.

"And I'm telling you, I still don't see no difference," the old man croaked back.

It was their routine. Banter, you might call it. Over the years, Milton had become quite fond of Mr. Jones, and he liked to think the feeling was mutual. He could never say for sure. There was always a malevolent undertone to everything the reptile said. Friends or not, Milton was sure he'd eat his own mother if she stood between him and his meal ticket.

Rumor was, that's exactly what did happen.

"That's because you're an old coot. Your eyes aint what they used to be. Why dontcha come down here. Take a closer look."

"I prefer to stay above ground, if it's all the same to you," Milton replied evenly.

He rummaged through the different food parcels until he found the bulkiest of the lot. A bucket full of raw fish. The smell filled the room almost immediately, and Milton could hear Croc sniffing the air in anticipation.

"You know, I won't be around for a while to feed you." Milton peered over the edge, eager to see Croc's reaction, hoping he wouldn't take the news too hard. "I'm going on vacation."

Croc grinned. "That right? Anywhere nice?"

"I haven't decided yet, but somewhere hot I think. Somewhere I can bathe in the sun. Perhaps by the sea. The ocean air is good for a man my age."

"Hmm, you wanna be careful out in that sun. You'll come back lookin' like a lobster," Croc rumbled. "I like lobster."

Milton cleared his throat and went back to his task. He didn't much like the scaly man's tone. But then again, he should be used to it by now. It was his way after all. And Arkham had taught him long ago to have a thick skin. Especially when it came to veiled threats.

"It must be hard for you, being locked up at this time of year. You must have family you'd rather spend it with."

"Naw, Arkham's the place to be, come Christmas time. It's summer when I want to be back home in the wetlands. That New Orleans air." He breathed in deeply, imagining the scent, and his throat rumbled. "Mhhmm. But aint no use for swamps in December. I prefer a comfy cell, and a nice turkey dinner."

Croc licked his lips and smiled, his teeth gleaming in the dim light.

Milton nodded awkwardly and finished his task. A minute later he was on his way out of the cell, and not a moment too soon in his books. End of shift couldn't come soon enough. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen the open sky, felt the breeze on his face, watched the water ripple. Nearly time now. So close.

Pushing the trolley down the corridor, he nodded to the guards respectfully. They smiled back, and whispered to each other. The usual Arkham gossip, he supposed. As he went on down the corridor, he heard a snippet of their conversation.

"Hey, if he wants to feed the guy, I'm not gonna argue. I don't want to do it, that's for damned sure."

Another one of those little tasks that always fell to him. Milton smiled. It was a wonder Arkham survived without him. But, alas, it would have to. The beach beckoned. He put the trolley away in the proper closet and shut the door behind him.

And that was it. Shift over.

Wearily, he trudged back down the familiar hallways. Butterflies did loop the loops in his stomach as he looked forward to his time off. He hardly knew what to do with himself. How nice it would be to have free time. To be free. Ah, that was the dream.

He stepped into his room, smiling from ear to ear. Time to relax. Milton sighed, content. It was good to be out. What a week it was going to be. He yawned, stretched and settled down into his cot. The guard pushed the door closed and turned the key.

"Enjoy your vacation, Milt."


End file.
